


Crocodile Tears

by Carter_Casterwill



Series: Danganronpa One-Shots [4]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Abuse, Canon Compliant, Child Abuse, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enoshima Junko Being An Asshole, Enoshima Junko Being Enoshima Junko, Family Issues, Hurt No Comfort, I'm glad they have a Junko warning tag., I'm not kidding, I'm not messing around, If Explicit wasn't for sex stories I would use it here, Junko's an asshole, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Mukuro needs a hug, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Sexual Abuse, Siblings, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Abuse, Warning: Enoshima Junko, that much is obvious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 07:37:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18494359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carter_Casterwill/pseuds/Carter_Casterwill
Summary: Junko Enoshima didn't turn her sister into the perfect submissive overnight. She really did work at it.(I'm not messing with the warnings.)





	Crocodile Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Again, not messing. This story is pretty brutal.

Training her sister to act the way she did was not a piece of cake for Junko to accomplish, but she had worked toward it for years. The reason was simple: She felt despair every time she managed to knock her sister down another peg in her own humanity. Every time that she watched her sister take another step down the ladder underneath her and looked less and less like her own human every time, Junko was filled with more and more despair each and every time.

The task was certainly a difficult one. It involved a lot of careful steps that needed to be taken in order to officially push her sister down to the level of dust. It had started small, really small. When kids had made fun of her, Junko was always that one who was by her side afterward. She was the one who would hug her and comfort her, telling her to ignore them, that she was the only one who would be there forever. They were children back then, only five years old then. Junko was already manipulating her to be the best for her. She was doing small things first, like giving her hugs just randomly. Small things like reminding her how much she loved her, how they were together forever, how she was just the bestest big sister anyone in the world could ever have until Mukuro would come to her on her own. Junko wouldn’t have to go searching for her whenever Mukuro was having a bad day. Eventually, she started coming to her by herself.

Then came phase two of Junko’s plan to destroy her sister’s humanity. She wreaked her sister’s relationships with her friend’s one by one, making them leave her, making them hate her without Mukuro even making a mistake. She wanted her sister to herself. She wanted to be the only person that Mukuro could rely on. She wanted to be the only person that she trusted and that she would come too. And it hurt. It hurt to watch her sister fall apart, hurt to hear her lock herself in their shared bedroom and cry because everyone in their class hated her now and she didn’t know why. Junko knew she had to start over, sitting outside of the room until she could convince her to open the door and let her in. She knew she had to hug her and tell her that it was okay. She had to let her own tears fall, to prove to Mukuro that she really did care. Crocodile tears. That’s what they were. Real tears for a fake reason. Soon, Mukuro said that she didn’t need anyone else. Junko was her only social connection to the world. She didn’t talk to anyone else at school, barely spoke to their parents, she only spoke to Junko and Junko had never felt more sense of pride in her life.

Phase three. Once Mukuro relied on her for emotional support, it had become easier to take over the rest of her life, forcing her dependant on Junko. She started to deny Mukuro things. Small things at first; “You can have your shirt back when I’m done with it.” “You can play with this toy after me.” Small things that had been Mukuro’s and she stuck to her word. That’s how she gained her trust. Once she was done with whatever it was, she would give it back. Then it got bigger. “You can come downstairs when I say.” “You can come outside when I say, Muku-nee.” Slowly getting bigger and bigger till her sister was almost living and breathing on her command. “You can eat when I tell you too.” “You can speak when I tell you too.” That one took the longest. Mukuro was a fighter, she always had been, so of course, she had put up a fight every time the intensity of the things she was allowed to do on her own changed, but Junko managed. She would just stick out her lip and let the tears slide down her face and complain about how her precious big sister that she looked up too oh so much didn’t love her anymore and Mukuro would cave into whatever it was. Crocodile tears. That’s what they were. Real tears for a different reason. Junko was destroying her sister’s free will, her humanity, and turning her into a machine for her own use. They were children, they were seven, and Junko was destroying her sister’s humanity. Crocodile tears to get her to do whatever she wanted, but they were real tears, just for a different reason.

Phase four, of course, would be her willingness to do things for her. Mukuro was a fighter, but Junko had learned how to deal with that the first time through. She would put up a fight, but the crocodile tears came back and she would oblige. Again, they started small. Simple little tasks where Junko would offer her a reward for it. “If you get me that over there, I’ll share it with you.” “If you get me some money from Mom’s purse, I’ll split it with you.” And slowly, the requests got more extreme while the rewards decreased. “If you do my homework, you can sit next to me at lunch.” “If you clean my room, I’ll let you pick what you want to be in our next game.” Every time she denied her, Junko would give her the pouty lip and let those crocodile tears fall and cry; “Muku-nee-chan doesn’t actually love me, does she? Even after everything I’ve done for her!” And Mukuro would go along with whatever it was. And the requests got bigger and the rewards shrunk still. “Beat up that kid for me and I’ll give you a kiss on the cheek as sisters do.” “If you keep quiet while I try this, I promise I’ll help you clean it up later.” And soon, Junko didn’t even need to tell her she would get a reward for it. Mukuro would do anything she asked of her and she would come back like an eager puppy, hoping to get a pat on her head for each and every thing that she did for her sister. Mukuro never saw the tears, not the crocodile ones that she used against her to get her to do things for her, that Junko cried at night, in between her giggles of obsessive despair that she was feeling.

Junko swore that she’d never let Mukuro see the tears that proved that she was feeling regret for what she was doing. She swore that she would never let Mukuro see her cry every night in the bathroom across from their shared bedroom to let out everything that she was feeling. She never saw how Junko would hide in the corner against the vanity and the wall and rock back and forth quietly as her mess of tears and giggles took over her. She never showed anyone her deranged side, never let anyone know how insane and psychotic she really was. No one wanted to see that side of her yet. Her parents had convinced themselves that Junko didn’t know what she was doing to her sister and had given her lectors on not treating her sister like that. Idiots. They all were idiots. Each and every one of them. They wouldn’t like this side of her. The strawberry blonde girl was smart and cute and everyone loved her, so she needed to show the side of her that they believed existed. She was the shining hope of the world. Disgusting. They mocked her, they really did.

Phase five would be the hardest yet. The girls were eight, so Junko barely knew what she was doing the first time she straddled her sister’s waist with a knife in hand on the roof of their house and quietly shushed Mukuro’s protests into silence. “Hey, hey, no talking, remember? It’s just the two of us up here. Just us, like always. I wanna try something new, okay? If you’re good for me, I’ll give you something special, okay?” She gave her sister a smile, but it only seemed to make Mukuro’s whining worse. A Cheshire smile to go along with the crocodile tears that seemed to come down her face next. It was Junko’s turn to whine, whine about how her darling big sister didn’t trust or love her anymore and that was why she was throwing a fit right now. “After everything I’ve done for you too, Muku-nee. After I became your best friend when no one else would!” “Okay, okay, Junko. You can try something new.” The crocodile tears came to a stop and Junko leaned down to kiss her sister’s cheek, giggling softly and thanking her over and over again. That’s how you get them. Treat them nicely, then destroy them from the inside out! Or the outside in. Whichever way seemed to work better. Then, Junko had taken that knife to her sister’s body for the first time, getting her pale hands and signature pigtails stuck in the same blood that was inside her sister’s veins. She had pulled at the buttons on her sister’s school uniform until they came undone and it opened up to reveal her chest. Then, she drew the knife across Mukuro’s skin ever so gently. Mukuro let out a cry and she jerked away from it, but Junko told her to stay still. Shapes made themselves known in Mukuro’s skin, shapes they had been learning in class that day. Mukuro twisted and twitched under her, trying to pull away from the blade against her skin, but it was no use. Junko didn’t let her go until she was finished with her shapes, each and every one imprinted on her skin now. Mukuro was crying, as expected of the eight-year-old, so Junko figured it would be time to give her the reward. She promised something special, didn’t she? So, she leaned down again and gently started kissing her cheek, forehead, lips, temple, any place she could on her sister’s face that would get her to stop crying and calm down. It worked. It calmed her down alright.

Of course, phase five didn’t end just there. No, she had to teach Mukuro to accept the pain first, and that was one of the hardest things she had ever done. She had to bring her up to the roof almost every day, and some days Mukuro tried to escape her, so she had to calm her down and then tie her wrists down to something to keep her still. That was when she learned the power of words in her tortures. Mukuro was more likely to listen to her if she spoke gently, calmly, and encouragingly to her before, during, and after the whole torture. Sometimes, her Cheshire smile would come out and those were the days that Mukuro figured out how much trouble she was in. Those were the days of panic and more crocodile tears than usual. Of course, it got to the point of where Mukuro would sometimes be waiting for her on the roof, lazily waiting for her torture. Those were the days the Junko spent the night in the bathroom longer than usual, sobbing about how far she had wreaked her sister’s life in the three years that she had started this plan. Mukuro could take any sort of torture that Junko would throw at her, from burning to knives to choking or drowning (if she had the ability too. Sometimes she would move this to the bathroom when their parents weren’t home) and Mukuro would take it all without complaint. There were still the panicked eyes, the tears and cries, and pleas to end the torture, but Mukuro wouldn’t try to escape. She knew what was coming for her every day.

Once that was done, it was on to phase six. Phase six was the emotional abuse. That would make Mukuro more clingy and desperate to please her. Junko knew that Mukuro was so dependant on her, so it was easy to put this one into action. It started small again, ignoring her for a while, not speaking to her the whole day while her sister wondered why she was so mad at her. Or just not coming up for the torture every day and leave her up on the roof by herself. Or she would get together with friends without telling her and leave Mukuro to believe that she was mad at her until eventually Mukuro snapped and would apologize for whatever it was that she had done wrong. Junko loved the despair that she would feel when she was watching her sister frantic and crying, falling into despair as she tried to figure out what she did but never knew what it was. Of course, like the loving sister she was, Junko always took her back after watching her squirm and patted her on the head, reminding her how much she cared about her, using all the other tactics that she had figured out over the years. Of course, once they were past the easy stuff, she moved on to the harder things. Next, Junko destroyed her self-esteem little by little. Comments like “That dress makes you look fat” or “Your hair looks awful” were ones that she used to ease her into the newest step of phase six. After that, they only got worse, like; “Gosh, Muku-nee, do you even try?” “You’re such a disappointment. You can’t do anything right.” Mukuro was falling. And if she ever tried to talk back, Junko’s eyes would water up and she would stick her bottom out in a pouty face and the crocodile tears would fall and she would whine “Muku-nee doesn’t love me, does she? I’m only trying to help!” And Mukuro would apologize over and over again until Junko told her to stop.

Mukuro had walked herself into phase seven. She stopped looking at herself as human. Everything she did was for Junko, all for her approval, everything to please her. She never left her side, no matter how many time that Junko, in her fits and moods, screamed at her. No matter how many times she hurt or beat Mukuro. Mukuro was loyal. Junko had done it. She could do whatever she wanted to her sister and there would be no retaliation. She had won. It had taken four, almost five years, but she had done it. Junko felt a sense of pride, but she also felt like she was going to cry every time that she saw her sister be the perfect submissive for her. They were just about ten now, they were growing up, but that just made it worse. Every time she dragged her sister around with her to different places, every time she came upstairs and to the roof for the daily torture that she did as soon as the lights went off around the town. Every time she heard herself insult her in some new way. It all made her break inside. It filled her with such despair and she couldn’t get enough of it. She felt awful, but at the same time, she never felt more alive in her life. When she would hold Mukuro close to her after a torture and stroke her hair, not saying anything. Or when Mukuro would hold her after a breakdown, stroking her hair gently, giving her gentle kisses on the forehead to try to calm her down. They were broken, twisted, sick… But they were sisters and they only had each other.

Then Junko took it too far. They were ten. They shouldn’t have known about what she knew. Her employer for her first photo shoot should have been more careful about the people he left around her. Junko knew that she could rape her sister, and so she did. To do something so insane and sickly to the person she cared about the most made her feel sick to her stomach, so she did it. That was the first time in a long time that she had ever heard her sister protest like that. That was the first time in a long time she had heard her scream as loud as she did (the only other time had been when Junko was in trouble). The first time in a long time she had been begged endlessly to stop. And it was the first time that Junko actually cried during torture. She broke down, was ready to vomit in disgust with herself, but she didn’t stop, because she was filled with such despair from this. She wanted to watch her sister break. At the same time, she didn’t want to do continue on with this. She wanted to pull away and stop, but at the same time, the very idea that she was denying this to herself and making herself go through it just as she was forcing her sister too filled her with such despair. The screams and the pleas and the cries were enough to destroy her heart.

The next week, Mukuro was gone. And Junko was destroyed more. She had run off to join that military group and Junko couldn’t believe that she was being left for that. She swore that when Mukuro came back, because of course she would, she would make her regret ever leaving. That was the promise she kept to herself to hold out the hope that Mukuro would end up coming back. Of course she would.

All those crocodile tears weren’t for nothing, after all.


End file.
